


Poet of Irrelevance

by alternation234



Category: sev dies on stream 2020
Genre: Gen, Why Did I Write This?, i wrote homestuck again, it doesnt stop happening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23969266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternation234/pseuds/alternation234
Summary: Taking a trip through narrative relevance? Cool! Welcome to the club. I'm... someone, but it doesn't matter right now. We'll be working together, I think.(You are aware that this will be an interesting method of writing, and may not be for everyone. You decide whether to read or not. Soon. Probably.)[yeah i just made homestuck 2 im sorry]
Relationships: :) - Relationship
Comments: 2





	Poet of Irrelevance

Starting anything is a difficult task. I’d know this most of all.

Okay, maybe I’m not the world’s foremost expert on how “starting things is horrible and bad and I hate it,” but I am a leading factor in the venerable field of procrastination and waiting for an entirely too long period of time. That is, in fact, something that I’m able to do very well, and I’ve explored the subject of waiting, and waiting, and waiting until one’s eyes bug out and limbs go taut and flat and fizzy, and then finally starting the task and thinking to yourself, “...this was really easy, actually, I don’t know why I made such a big deal. Out of nothing. Because it’s easy.” (Me, 2020)

You get the idea. Starting anything is difficult. Waking up, even.

But I had to do that anyways.

You switch from second to first person in your head, sometimes. You should probably get out of bed, though.

So I did. 

I stretched, waking up to… something. Maybe not ash and dust, but sometimes you awaken with the feeling of stickiness in your mouth, like you had consumed a pound of sugar and passed out immediately. Not that I would know what that is like. Of course not.

(You know what that is like.)

Yes, I know what that’s like. No, I will not go into detail. Do not try this at home, kids and adults with poor impulse control. 

Anyways.

I got out of bed, hunched shoulders and curved back telling of my relative sleepiness. Y’know, it’s pretty difficult to sleep well when your bed is… something like a slab of concrete, or a metal pole (times thirty.) I lived like a prisoner. Maybe I still do. But it was definitely worse. I can say that much. 

You get up and wash your face in the dirty sink. Hey, it’s not much, but it’s home, you think to yourself. Okay, maybe it isn’t home. Maybe it’s a little less. You’re not sure of what word could be used to describe a place that’s just “a little less than home,” though, so you decide to just call it home, and leave it be.

Looking around, I can see plainly that the condition of the room has worsened from when I got here. I think. I’m not quite sure when that was, anymore. But it was better than this. The padded walls? Barely puffy anymore. No bounce. Sink? Dirty. Disgusting thing. I’ve had to wash your hair in it, so I remember to wash the sink every once in a while. At least it’s made of something like stainless steel. 

...it’s probably stainless steel, now that I think about it. So at least it’s pretty easy to clean the grime that gets on it. The window, or, oh, no, sorry, mirror, yeah, mirror, of course, reflects perfectly the slightly sepia-toned walls. I can tell you one thing. Those walls weren’t like that when I got here.

(You’re quite aware that the walls were painted over approximately a few weeks after your first getting here, but you would much rather imagine yourself as some sort of bastard, a powerful chaotic force.)

(You aren’t.)

I think that today was supposed to be the day before a special day. I think. I really don’t want to deal with that, right now at least. It’s been a day.

(You say, as you wake up. Or rather, think.)

Nevertheless, I look at the clock, expecting to see some unholy time like four in the morning.

It.

It’s five in the afternoon. I’ve slept through at least one alarm, probably a sitewide announcement, and… probably breakfast and lunch. And maybe dinner as well.

**Fuck.**

**Author's Note:**

> i want to die


End file.
